November 30, 2011

KIDS DON'T FOLLOW ANYWAY

Apparently, in 1981 TwinTone decided to get all pro for posterity and did a multicamera shoot for a bunch of bands at the Entry, including a still new and maybe not real popular yet Replacements. They were babies and Bob's not even wearing a dress or a blouse.

CUSH CONTUSION

November 24, 2011

SOLO FLUTES

There was so much soloing in my dreams last night. In one dream, I was Time Traveling Carlos Santana, traversing the universe, ala Dr. Who. I went back in time, "discovered" Gloria Estefan and then took her even further back in time--1969 and we had a band with Ravi Shankar. Which, I hate to say it, but was pretty good. Sadly, I was not wearing the outfit Carlos wears on the devotional LP he did with John McLaughlin.
His outfit always makes me think of Christina Billotte c. Slant 6 b/c every time I saw them, she was wearing that outfit, but in diff color combinations. Cable knit and collared shirt was really a style her own during that immediate post-grunge era.
SORRY TO TALK ABOUT THE NINETIES. Enuff z'nuff of that, dudes.

Meanwhile. In my other dream, I tried to join an unwieldy 10 pc ska band that was made up of young critics and Pitchfork writers. I pretended I could play recorder, they let me in, thinking it was a flute. They would point to me--like "hit it" and I could only play these nilly free jazz solos. I got kicked out. Really, the story of my life in bad dream metaphor.

Meanwhile, again. Yesterday afternoon Matt and I went on a date to see Martha Marcy May Marlene, the movie about a rape cult, amongst other themes. Not very "date" movie, not very "light" or "romantic fare". But, certainly it pales in comparison to the time, when Matt, as an undergrad in Iowa took a girl on a first date to see the Bruce LaBruce film Hustler White which, has among other things, amputee-stump anal scenes. He said he thought it was "an LA art film". MMMM was rill good, though, Twilight: Breaking Dawn is still really just stuck in my head. I think I might need to see it again? As I mentioned in my previous post, it's so, so so good-bad, it's the best-worst. I am not sure whats happening to me that I am starting to prefer the schaudenfreud (sp?) of loving a terrible thing. Is it because there are seemingly few genuinely great things to engross me, and there seems so much more content, so much more that begs examination in a Twilight movie, or a live Jackson Browne record, or American Horror Story. Like, last episode of AHS, someone gets their penis bitten off. It's not great TV by any stretch. I could be watching Washington Week instead, surely. But I am not. But I don't feel like it's a matter of settling for "dumb". But maybe that is just wishful thinking? Not all bad is bad, right?

I am trying to think of my favorite records of 2011 that I don't think anyone else paid attention to, for a thing I am writing. My main faves are Lucky Dragons SHAPE TAPE, the Sich Mang tape, Crazy Band "Fuck You" and some other little local tape-tapes. What else am I forgetting? I keep remembering stuff and then looking at the CD and realizing "oh that came out in 2010". Got Recommendations? msjessicahopper at the ol' gmail.
I wanna love some not bad. I wanna love some great.
I wanna love your secret love. "All night all night over and over again, this time with lotion," as the song based on our old saying goes.

And, PS. I am doing a reading in NY City--that is Manhattan--on 12/8--in the evening, at Housing Works, for the DaCapo Best Music Writing showcase showdown. I will be reading my negative review of the last MIA record, in fact. I will be six months preggo then. Roly-poly. I will have to stand funny behind the lectern to allow for my giant tum. Perhaps on a chair, or a stepstool and just lean down to the mic if there is one.

Here is a picture of my other son, who is coming out in March.
Which is to say I am five months pregnant, presently.

This is not a very fine picture of it, but this is William, last night, dancing on a chair while he plays the harmonica for his grandma, over the phone. Yesterday, after a few weeks of occasional practice, I just let him have the harmonica to run around the play room with while I cooked dinner and about 40 minutes later, he just gets it and is playing, playing, playing--blowing a tune, in-out-in-out. And dancing, which is mostly swaying and bending his knees. But for someone who is a mere 15 months old, I think is pretty serious dancing.

ALso, I did a 10 inspirational moments in Bjork history for Rookie, which includes her early anarcho-feminist band that was on Crass records. Which I forgot existed for the last like, 12 years or so. They were pretty rad. Anyhow, everyone read Rookie, the feminist fun fanzine of today that Tavi does. My sister Lauren is one of the editors, along with my super hard working friend Anaheed, who used to be my occasional editor at the Reader, and I am real proud of them.